


Ghost Hunting

by CavannaRose



Series: Rogues Fics [7]
Category: Flash Rogues - Fandom, The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Haunted Houses, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa has a secret obsession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dillonmania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/gifts).



She'd never admit it to anyone, but Lisa had a secret love for ghost stories and horror. The delicately built figure skater-turned-thief kept it a secret, even from those closest to her. Still, every now and then she'd take herself on a little "girl's weekend", claiming she was heading to a spa or other such nonsense. Instead, she was going on weekend retreats to haunted locales, unexplained murder sites, ghost hunting adventures and other such ghoulish diversions.

She was certain that given enough time, she could find the truth behind some of the killer legends that stalked the United States. It was her own shameful little secret wish. Right now, with the guys otherwise occupied d planning their big heist, seemed like the perfect time for another getaway. This one was in Illinois, a weekend alone at a house supposedly victim to some kind of malevolent spirit that went on deadly rampages on Hallowe'en.  He was described as some kind of masked man in a jumper on the pamphlet she'd read through.

The idea was ludicrous, of course, but the pretty blonde couldn't resist at least checking it all out. So here she was, a thrill running down her spine as she stepped out of the bus, her overnight bag clutched firmly in one hand. The failing light of dusk certainly gave the place an ominous feel. With a grim smile she pulled the key out of the mailbox and let herself inside.

Bag weighing heavily on her shoulder, Lisa entered the home of the famed serial killer. It took her a few moments of fumbling to find the light switch, but finally the thready illumination of disuses fixtures brightened the room. The blonde figure skater wrinkled her nose in mild distaste. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but there was a fine veneer of dust over everything, and the decor was more than a tad dated. Settling her bag on the side table, she moved briskly through the corridors, examining the various accoutrements adorning the old manse.

Whomever had taken possession clearly felt no need to update anything since the infamous evening in the sixties. Though not the most pleasing of atmospheres, there was a certain authenticity that it lent to the experience. Brushing heat-frazzled locks from her face, she returned to the entrance to fetch her luggage, finally making her way to the second floor.

Leaving the faintest trails through the patina of crime coating the floors, she examined each of the bedrooms, seeking the one that seemed to require the least amount of airing out. Picking the last room on the left, she pulled the plastic coverings off all the furniture, fetching clean linens from the bureau drawers. In spite of the dismal gloom that the incandescent lighting provided, the thrill of excitement was still fresh within the figure skater's chest, and she hummed a joyful little tune to herself as she made up the twin where she would be spending the next three nights.

A real murder house, just think! Once she had a place to sleep, she dug around in her bag for her EMF detector, setting it up near the door. Maybe she'd get some real activity tonight, something to record for posterity.


	2. Chapter 2

Getting the equipment set up to meet her exacting standards took longer than Lisa anticipated, and for some reason she just couldn't shake the feeling of being observed. Rather than being deterred by the ominous atmosphere, the criminal known as Golden Glider was elated. To think, malevolent activity on her first night! All she had to do was get the gear set up to record everything for posterity. One she'd assembled all of the gear, she adjusted knobs and dials, trying to pick up just the right frequencies. It took several attempts, as there were a lot of radio waves down this section of the states, and picking up the late night talk shows was not what she'd had in mind for her little vacation.

Eventually everything was erected to her satisfaction, and she dusted off her yellow leggings, blowing sweat-dampened hair from her face. It wasn't every day you mounted a ghost hunt all alone in an unfamiliar town, but whatever unnatural entities might be lurking in the dusk, she'd find them. After all, Lisa had stolen the best gear money couldn't buy. With a rueful grin she stripped out of her travel rumpled clothes and hit the shower, letting the hot water ease the aches and worries of the day from her limbs. The brochure had stated that most people didn't experience anything right away, she was feeling lucky.

Warmed and comforted by the familiar routine of the shower, Lisa stepped into the humid bathroom, reaching blindly for her towel. She slowly dried off, golden locks clinging to her face as she carefully tamped at the drops coalescing down her legs. She checked her appearance in the foggy mirror, not seeing much due to the condensation. She sighed, relaxation written across her features before she stalked back into the bedroom, digging around for her nightwear.

She looked like a ribbons and lace kinda girl, but she much preferred to sleep in a pair of Roscoe's old boxers and one of Len's t-shirts. The two men were of value to her, though both for different reasons, and she liked having even just a token nearby when she was drowsy. Call her a sentimental fool, but the Snart's never had much, so she clung to what she did have. Lisa went around and checked all her equipment one last time, coming up with nothing on the readouts. Sulking a bit, she grabbed a book supposedly based on the Hallowe'en killings and retired to the bed to familiarize herself with the local legends.


	3. Chapter 3

Part of Lisa was discouraged by the lack of immediate activity, but she had learned long ago to play the waiting game. Wait for the perfect score, wait for the perfect moment to start an axle or a lutz, wait for Dad to pass out drunk before you snuck down to the kitchen to find something to eat. When one lived hard and fought for their dreams, patience wasn't a virtue, but a necessity.

Fascinated, she read through the stories of what had transpired in the house over 50 years ago. A young boy, seemingly going mad. The violent nature of the deaths that followed. Grisly fare for before bedtime, certainly, but there was no one here tonight to comment or distract. Still, despite the inflammatory nature of the prose at hand, the long day of travel and the soothing warmth from the shower plotted against her, soothing her tired psyche until the book fell from her hand, hitting the floor with a dull thunk.

The lamp on the bedside table warmed the room with it's yellow glow, as the criminal female drifted into dreamland, visions of ax murderers and ghostly apparitions dancing through her head. A woman so accustomed to crime and violence, it left a smile on her sleeping face. Morpheus held her tight in his embrace, when a prolonged squeak interrupted her slumber, causing the golden-haired beauty to stir. One blue eye slid open, an excited tension rippling through her wakening limbs. Lisa held her breath, hoping to hear another indication of a presence in the abandoned home.

When nothing offered itself immediately, she slid from the bed, sheets clumping awkwardly around her ankles and disturbing her progress. She ended up kneeling amidst the linens, on the floor in front of her equipment, quietly and excitedly hitting buttons, rewinding the recording to play back the sound. Perhaps it had merely been the the aging domicile settling in the night, but then again it could be something more. She pulled out a small note bad, recording the date, time and sound. This was what she had come out here for. A relaxing excitement that had nothing to do with Rogues, skating, or her life in Central City. Something that was simply hers.


	4. Chapter 4

Lisa rose off the floor slowly, taking time to stretch out her limbs. Ofttimes she forgot that she wasn't a young woman anymore, and years of skating and high-pace crime sprees had left her with the kind of aches that set in whenever you stayed still too long. Perhaps the dye in her hair kept her looking younger than her brother, but the age gap wasn't as broad as she pretended it was, and only Roscoe knew exactly how much grey was starting to thread through her temples.

Perhaps it was these subtle signs of her own mortality that had spawned this obsession with violent death and the world beyond, Lisa wasn't really inclined to examine that too closely though. Maybe it was the fact that people she knew, at least in passing, had died and come back, none with a real answer as to what happened in between. Whatever had started this strange quest for answers, she was invested in it now.

The figure skater tucked her notepad inside her waistband, the pen going behind her ear as she reached for a flashlight. The equipment was whirring along happily, everything in working order, and now she was going on foot to investigate further. If it was just the house settling, well that was that for the night, but she was too excited now to just lay down and sleep. Moving cautiously through the building, flashlight sweeping a wide swath back and forth down the hall, she pursued the sounds she was certain she had heard.

At first she encountered only silence, broken by the sound of her steps, the heart beating excitedly in her chest, and the panting breaths that she could not quiet. She'd made it downstairs, and was about to complete the circuit of the house, ready to call it all a failure, when a discordant note entered the harmony she was producing with her own cautious progress. A breath out of sync with her own, muffled. Her head jerked upward and she flicked the flashlight off, standing silently, holding her breath now as she waited for the sound to come again.

Someone was here, she just knew it. Whether they were among the living or the dead, she had yet to determine, but Lisa was no wilting flower. Snapping the flashlight back on she moved towards where she thought the breath had sounded from. There was a mystery here, and damnit she was going to get to the bottom of it!


	5. Chapter 5

Curiosity rippled along Lisa's spine, dragging her deeper and deeper into the barely maintained old home. The owner had worked hard to keep it looking much like it had back in the 60s, the decor adding to the ominous feel of the place as she swung her flashlight along the hall. Dust sparkled in the air, making the beam of light murkier than perhaps was preferable. She found her nerves begin building up in her, causing the light source to waver as her hand began trembling a bit.

She was jumpier than she had expected to be, when she approached the opportunity to explore the paranormal possibilities for the old murder house. She wasn't sure she believed in the boogeyman that they whispered about, but she believed that something existed past this life, hadn't they seen enough of it, even in their quiet corner of Central City?

A startled squeak escaped her as a hollow, slightly screechy noise echoed down the hall, setting her pulse racing faster than mastering a quadruple lutz with a triple salchow with a double toe loop finish. Free hand clutching her chest, big blue eyes fixated on the old door slowly swinging open up ahead. She nervously chewed at her lip, pupils dilating in fear and anticipation as she considered the possibilities. Perhaps it was just the old house settling, or perhaps there was someone, or something, there... waiting for her, taunting her to come closer.

"Ready or not, here I come." She muttered under her breath, trying to bolster her confidence with some blatant self-consolation. Pushing forward she braced a hand against the door, pushing it further open, swinging her flashlight around the lintel before following with her blond head, ponytail swinging as she peered into the darkness of the next room.

Stepping into the room with more than just a touch of trepidation, she scanned the light around the corners. The house, for the most part, had maintained it's original furnishings. All parceled in with the experience, she guessed. The question was, then, why was this one so empty? Something strange was going on here, and damnit she would find out.

A shriek escaped from Lisa as the door suddenly shut behind her, and she swung around, dropping the flashlight in the process. The gloomy beam rolled across the room, area of illumination spinning wildly. In fits and starts the figure skater caught sight of what had sealed her in the chamber, and fear sunk heavy to the pit of her stomach. A man... a masked man.

Her mind was in five hundred places at once, trying to contemplate escape routes, trying to judge how likely it was that this figure was the killer apparition she had been stalking. Her years of villainy at the side of her brother helped her maintain a semblance of cool, but inside she was shaking like a leaf, taking careful steps away from the mask clad intruder.

"Look here, buddy. I don't know who you are or what you want, but I'm sure we can work out some kinda deal, right? It's a pretty funny gag you got going, all dressed up like a killer in the middle of the night, but how about we just chat this over like adults? You had your laugh..." Try as she may, she couldn't keep the quiver of fear out of her voice. Damnitall, this was not how it was supposed to go.


	6. Chapter 6

She held her breath, watching as the unknown figure simply tilted it's head to one side, watching her, weighing her. Lisa couldn't tell what nefarious purpose was behind the motion, but the way her pulse sped at her throat made her pay attention. One didn't spend their life indulging in crime without developing a gut instinct. The blonde backed away from the figure, one hand slightly behind her so that she wouldn't run into anything.

Despite the fear in her throat, the woman's mind was working overtime, eyes flickering about the room in search of a weapon, anything she could use in defense, or even something to aid her in escaping. There wasn't much, the room was oddly barren, as opposed to the rest of the home. Perhaps there was more to choose from, but taking her gaze from the white mask and the pitiless hollows behind it didn't seem like it was a clever option.

The figure skating thief offered her intimidating opponent another hesitant smile. "Look Mister, this really isn't a good idea. You got your scare, but if I have to I will rain all kinds of havoc down on your parade." There, she caught sight of the heavy flashlight out of the corner of her eye. She risked ripping her eyes from the monstrous man, diving across the room, hand grasping for the cool metal cylinder. It was heavy, and it was something to defend herself with. She could shine it in his eyes, use it as a bludgeoning tool. Something.

She had never felt such relief as when her hand wrapped around the heavy handle of the flashlight. She rolled to her feet with more grace than she thought she could manage, cradling the makeshift weapon close to her chest as she ran her hands over it, looking for the on switch. The creepy figure simply tipped his head in the other direction, neither speaking nor advancing on her quite yet.

Her hands slipped along the flashlight in her fear and haste, but she finally found the switch, pushing it to reveal... nothing. The fall had jarred the batteries within loose. Lisa stepped back again, eyeing the monstrous intruder in terror as she gave the flashlight a solid thwack against her palm. trying to get it started again. Finally a thready beam emerged, bathing the small room in a sickly yellow glow.

"All right Mister... Joke's over now. Get out of the way and I'll just be going. This game has gone on long enough."

She tried to be brave, bold, ballsy, all those things that are so easy during the day. She'd stared down the barrel of guns with less fear than she viewed this one, silent figure. Gritting her teeth together, she shone the flashlight directly in the monster's face and took a step forward.

"Move it or lose it, buster!"


	7. Chapter 7

The imposing figure finally moved, still without making a sound. Unfortunately, he moved towards Lisa, not away. Her delicate fingers tightened on teh handle of the flashlight, and despite herself she gave ground, retreating further into the room, further away from the door and escape. That was when the thready beam reflected off the dingy blade in his hand.

A gasp escaped the thief's mouth as she took in the size of knife the masked figure carried. It was ridiculously over-sized, stained with a thick coating of things Lisa didn't even want to begin to think about. She shuddered, backing up another few steps until the solid weight of the wall hit her back. Another feminine gasp escaped her, and she swung the heavy flashlight desperately in front of her.

"You stay away! Get out of here or I'll hand you your ass on a platter!" Crudeness slipped from her mouth, brought out by her nervousness, even though she usually tried to speak in the mannerisms befitting a lady. She was deeply concerned that things were about to go south, fast. 

Her spine was pressed tightly against the wall, and Lisa's mind was racing. She had to do something, anything. She wasn't this weak creature that whatever was happening had tried to turn her into. She was better than this, she just had to think. The figure moved closer, raising the weapon in it's hand and for a moment her mind went blank again. She raised the flashlight, using the metallic handle almost to block the blow.

Focus, girl, focus. You can do this. You're part of one of the most successful groups of organized criminals in the world. She'd been cornered like this by her father often enough, and once Lenny had left she'd had to defend herself. She drew her hand back and tossed the flashlight at the creature's head, then aimed a kick at the knee nearest to her. It had gotten her out from under Lawrence Snart's drunken fists countless times.

She darted around the creature, eyes focused on the door at the far end of the room. All she had to do was reach that, down the hall, and out the door. To hell with her things. Thrill seeker she might be, but she knew when something was too much for her.


	8. Chapter 8

Lisa was riding the edge of panic, fighting desperately with the door handle as the monstrous figure behind her recovered quickly from her temporary attack and turned to pursue her. Cursing desperately under her breath she finally got her sweating palms to work with her, wrenching the door open and racing out into the hall. The layout of the house was simple, and she was getting out of here. End of the hall and turn right? No... That door led to a sitting room. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She turned, blindly running back up the hall. It was supposed to be a left. If she kept going straight, past the hallway with the horrible masked figure, she could hit freedom, but she couldn't do it, couldn't risk passing him as he caught up with her, so she veered right early, and raced up the steps, taking them two at a time. Never go upstairs when the monsters are chasing you. She knew better than that, but her brain wasn't thinking properly. She was too frightened.

She paused at the top of the stairs... her room! She had weapons in there. A gun! What better way to turn the tide against the relentless evil that followed her like a bad dream. Glancing behind her once more she fled down the hall. Please let her get to the bedroom first. Please let her find the gun before that thing caught her.

Lisa stumbled, tripping over a worn spot in the carpeting, coming down hard on her trapped ankle. The woman had broken enough bones as both figure skater and thief that she recognized that distinctive snapping sound. The pain was just barely enough to penetrate her fear-numbed mind. The urge to give in to despair, to just surrender, was like a niggling black thought at the back of her mind. She was stronger than that. Lisa Snart had survived her father, the rigors of professional figure skating, the dangerous life of a thief... some monster in a haunted house wasn't going to get the better of her.

She used the little display table in the hall to drag herself up, determined not to look back and find out how much closer the figure was. It was best if she saved that energy. Leaning heavily on the wall she limped the last few feet to her room, ignoring the vicious pain shooting through her leg. Pain was temporary. She threw herself against the bedroom door, throwing it open and landing on the floor again. With her uninjured leg she kicked it back closed, crawling forward to lock it, anything to give her even a moment's advantage.

That done she dragged herself across the bedroom floor to her half-unpacked luggage, digging around within it for the gun she had wrapped in a pair of leggings and tucked into the bottom. Finally her hand wrapped around the comfort of cold steel, and she pulled out the heavy handgun with a sigh. Turning she propped her back against the bed, raising her arms to sight at the door. No one took her down without a fight. Just holding the weapon allowed some of the panic to bleed away.


	9. Chapter 9

Taking cool, calming breaths as she tried to steady her hands on the gun worked a hell of a lot less when the monster started to pound against the locked bedroom door. Between the pain in her twisted ankle and the threat of that black eyed man-creature, she had developed a fine film of sweat across her brow. The fear causing it to drip in her eyes. It was totally sweat, not tears. Not at all. Hands trembling, she screamed as his fist came through the door. With that hole, the madman didn't reach around and unlock the door, he simply kept beating on the wood, mercilessly forcing his way through the door. Even Lisa couldn't deny that she was, in fact, crying now as the beast took his first step into the bedchamber. Still, she could be brave. Bravery in the face of your fears was the only real courage, right? She swallowed back another sob, mustering everything she had in front of her to lower the weapon, flick the safety and fire all six shots into the creature before her.

She held her breath, watching in worry, and then triumph as each bullet ripped through the monster's flesh. At first there was no reaction, but then, and she gloried in the moment, the beast dropped to his knees. The unnatural silence accompanying the action was almost as deafening as the ringing in her ears. She'd forgotten and left the .357s in the pistol. No matter. Finally the man... the thing... whatever it was that had been stalking her through the house had fallen to the ground.

Dragging herself to her feet, Lisa carefully wiped the sweat of fear, pain and exertion off of her forehead. She loved ghost stories, yes, but this one had gotten a little too real. Studiously avoiding the prone form on the bedroom floor, and the lack of blood pooling around it, she grabbed whatever of her gear was close at hand, cramming it in her bag. She was going home. Still favouring her twisted ankle, not sure how bad it was, she carefully picked her way around the fallen form, pausing a moment to glare down at it. Whatever it was, it had ruined her weekend. Almost as if struck by some compulsion, she bent over, reaching a hand for it's mask. Maybe if she saw what was under there it would all be worthwhile.

A key factor to defeating fears was to understand them, but Lisa had overstepped in attempting to indulge this particular curiosity. Before she had truly registered what was happening, she felt the steely clasp of the creature's clammy hand around the delicate column of her neck. She had no weapon at the ready, save her overnight bag, she couldn't even make a sound outside of the choked gasps for breath struggling to escape her throat. The blonde clawed at his hands, unaware of the way her nails were breaking as she desperately scrabbled to break his hold.

The only lucky break she had was that her bag, shaken loose as the killer rose with her in his grasp, had fallen between their two bodies, taking the brunt of the knife blow he had aimed at her stomach. The blade turned askew, catching little more than her over-sized t-shirt, hardly grazing her side, though the wound was soon staining the fabric a dark, wet crimson. The feel of the blood causing the material to cling to her side only heightened Lisa's panic, and she desperately kicked at the monster, eyes rolling in fear. Through the harsh hiss of breath she was managing, the word Roscoe was barely squeezing out from between her lips, over and over again, almost like a prayer of supplication.


	10. Chapter 10

Lisa tried her best not to let her mind go blank, despite the dark severity of the situation. It would be so easy, to just give in to the panic bubbling in her chest, but that way held certain death. Snarts were survivors above all else, she couldn't just roll over and concede. Whoever, /whatever/, this creature was he was stronger than she... and apparently impervious to such trivial matters like a chest full of bullets. She'd tangled with metahumans, matched wits with The Flash... why was this one, horrifying masked figure so impossible?

Struggling in his grasp was quickly proving useless, doing little other than exhaust what remained of her strength and oxygen. Once more she tried to scream, but as her back was slammed against the nearest wall by the unshakable monster nothing but a breathless sob dropped uselessly from her lips. Head spinning, she almost didn't catch the glint of the knife in the darkened house. She kicked, hoping against hope that she could knock the blade from the beast's hand. Though she made contact, she could tell right away her blow had been too weak.

Perhaps it was surprise, or maybe just dumb luck, if one could call anything in this situation that, but she did catch the horror's elbow, sending the knife not into her chest or soft abdomen, but through the thick muscles of her shoulder. Something that hurt so badly should be required to make more noise, shouldn't it? Through the shock settling around her she could feel the edge of the blade catching on her traumatized flesh, making it's path through her body like a slow burn. Worst of all was the grinding sensation as it skated across the delicate plate of her scapula, before piercing through and pinning her to the wall like a butterfly on display in the museum.

Had the knife hit any higher it could have hit her subclavian vein, any further to the side, her axillary artery. Still, Lisa wasn't exactly thanking her lucky stars right then. Viscous blood oozed from the wound, staining her shirt already plastered to the skin with the sweat of her fear. Her world was awash with pain, her focus the two dark eye holes of the masked figure before her. More than ever now, she was helpless.


	11. Chapter 11

Lisa trembled at the end of the monster's knife, unsure of where this dread encounter would lead her next. Visions of torment and torture danced through her brain, increasing in scope and perversion as his cold hand wrapped around her throat once more. She closed her eyes, unwilling to face the emotionless mask of his face, not wanting to see what came next.

The man, spectre, whatever he was dragged the blade from her shoulder, making Lisa's eyes pop open with the pain. She had barely caught her ragged breath, barely registered his actions, as that cursed knife came towards her chest once more. She didn't have the energy to fight it, this time. On her face was written that glum acceptance. In the back of her mind, she always knew she was going to meet a violent end. It was a miracle she had survived her father's wrath, and with her particular day job, death by cop was truly how she expected her life to finally snuff out.

The blood from her previous wound made her flesh slick, and the blade pierced the centre of her chest, just shy of her heart. She made one small, piteous sound, something far too minute to be considered a scream as what remained of her nerve endings cried out against the foul treatment. She knew she was dying, all that fiend needed to do was release her throat, and her own body weight would pull his deadly weapon up her chest, ripping into her heart.

... No. She was a survivor, she refused to die here, like this. Some kind of meat-based art avant-garde. Reaching forward she slammed both her hands down on the creature's shoulders, pushing herself up as the blade dragged lower, towards her belly. So braced, she took advantage of the psycopath's apparent surprise and wrapped her thin legs around his waist, ignoring his hands on her throat as she reached down and pulled the blade from her own stomach. She gasped as the blood flowed freely from the wound, but she was not yet beaten. 

As the man released her throat she turned the blade, jamming it as deep into one of those pitiless eye sockets as she could manage, riding his body as it fell to the ground. With trembling limbs, barely containing the strength to do so, she pulled herself off of him and yanked the blade from his face. Adrenaline coursed through her and she let out a ragged scream, driving the blade into his throat over and over again, hacking away as his limbs twitched, until she had severed the spine and the head went rolling from his body.

Exhausted, Lisa dragged herself to her feet and stumbled for the door. It was over, but it didn't feel like she had won. If she didn't get to a hospital soon, the creature's work would finish itself. Her lips pressed into a thin line. One way or another, she wasn't going to be ghost hunting anymore.


End file.
